Peeta Runs Away to the Seam
by DearElla
Summary: A story from Peeta's POV that explores what might have happened had Prim and Peeta never been reaped.


A/N: I claim no credit to the Hunger Games trilogy, or anything you may recognize in this story that comes from the Hunger Games. That is all the wonderful creation of Suzanne Collins. This story is a glimpse into Peeta's life from his perspective. It's what I would like to think happened if Peeta and Prim were never reaped. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

We walk slowly to the Justice Building for the Reaping. No one says anything. Father's lips are pursed together, his graying mustache quivering. My mother holds my hand in a vice-like grip. Her face is impassive, even her blue eyes lack their normal flintiness. She has her blonde hair artfully arranged on top of her head, handily disguising the grey strands that have begun to show over the last few years. She wears a new dress, dark blue with a collar and buttons up the front. My father and I wear our best shirts and slacks, well-worn and somewhat faded. My shoes are hand-me-downs from my brothers, but neatly polished. I stare at them as we file into the square. My mother releases my hand to let me join the line with the others.

"You'll be fine, Peeta," she tells me with certainty, and I nod automatically. I feel anything but fine.

I avoid my father's eyes, and they leave me to get in line for the Reaping. My father hangs back, uncertain, for a moment, while my mother walks resolutely to the roped off section for those who have aged out of the Reaping. My brothers must be there, with their wives, and my two nieces. I resist the urge to find them in the crowd and silently join the line for the Reaping, everyone just as silent around me. We trudge forward slowly, offering our fingers to be stuck by a needle and registered.

The needle jabs, but I barely notice it. Numb, I stumble past the peacekeeper and join the boys section in front of the Justice Building. Some of my friends gather around me, pale and clammy. Now done with school, we see each other less often as we work or are apprenticed in town.

Today is no happy reunion, though, our last Reaping. So far, the odds have been in our favor. Monty rubs his sweaty palms against his pants, and Happ swallows nervously. I run my fingers through my hair until it flops onto my forehead.

I vaguely observe the gaudy Capitol woman who chirpily introduces herself and congratulates us all. The anthem sounds hollow in my ears, but my attention returns sharply as she approaches the Reaping balls. I find myself thinking of beautiful grey eyes and a long dark braid.

Katniss Everdeen. The girl I've loved from afar. I wordlessly, desperately wish for her safety.

Effie Trinket draws a name from the girls, and I breathe a sigh of relief that it's not _her_. I then immediately feel ashamed as a poor Seam girl stumbles forward. Eyes wide, thin, and trembling. No one volunteers of course.

I feel sick. She hasn't got a chance.

I feel worse as the attention turns to the boys' Reaping ball. Her hand swirls around the papers, and my heart pounds as I desperately think _Not me, not me, not me_.

It's not me.

Another poor Seam kid moves past me to the stage, gawky with youth and hunger. Can't be more than fifteen. He reaches the stage to stand beside the girl tribute. There's a call for volunteers, and a stark silence falls. I gaze at my shoes, ashamed. I finally look up as they're whisked away into the Justice Building. Happ pats me weakly on the back. My legs tremble. I heave a sigh.

I've survived my last Reaping.

Weeks later, the 76th Hunger Games are over, our district's tributes are dead, and district life attempts to return to normal. Dark-haired and olive-skinned miners mine their quotas deep beneath the district and live in the Seam, and pale, blonde merchants work at their trades in the town. I work in the bakery with my family, doing my best to be useful. Our bakery is stretched thin supporting my parents, my brother Bran, his wife and daughter, and me.

My eldest brother, Graham, made an advantageous marriage to the blacksmith's only child and now stands to inherit the forge. He's worked and lived there for the past couple of years with his wife and their daughter. Bran wed another town girl, the grocer's youngest daughter. She has three older brothers all vying to inherit the district's only grocery. She and Bran plan to have the bakery instead. Which leaves me, the brother that has always been somewhat unwanted.

I'm just one too many.

My mother keeps making sure I know it, too. Reminding me constantly how much easier it would be if I married well and apprenticed elsewhere. How grateful I should be for the roof over my head and a job safe from the mines. In her fear and frustration, she hits me, desperate for me to initiate an engagement. She eyes Delly Cartwright, the butcher's eldest, although she would prefer Madge Undersee, the only child of the district's mayor. Delly has a younger brother, who could be chosen over Delly to become the next butcher. Both girls are my age, and we've known each other since childhood.

Delly, in particular, has been a friend of mine. Appropriate for her namesake, she enjoys working the deli counter in her father's shop. It's hard to imagine her becoming the next butcher, though. Blood and slaughter disgust her. I'm not one to judge, though. I'm repulsed myself by the thought of killing and dismembering.

All I want is to be a baker… and marry Katniss Everdeen.

As if that's ever going to happen. The bakery will be Bran's, and I've barely talked to Katniss. I can't imagine even telling her how I feel. She's tough and aloof and beautiful. Long, dark hair always braided back and fierce silver eyes. Her tanned skin glows, and her slender body is strong and supple. I've seen how the boys at school eye her, but most keep a safe distance from her flashing eyes and semi-permanent scowl. It only seems to enhance her intimidating allure. She's from the Seam, a miner's daughter, and a deceased miner at that. She nearly starved to death after her father died, when she was only eleven years old. I'll never forget seeing her leaning against our apple tree, weak from hunger, desperate and defeated.

That virtually sums up my entire interaction with Katniss Everdeen. Seeing her leaning against our apple tree and making the decision to burn a loaf of bread. It's the only time I knowingly risked my mother's anger. I thought I could pretend to give the burned loaf to our hog, but really give it to Katniss. I succeeded and got a whack to the head from my mother. All to give Katniss a burned loaf of burned bread. Since then, I've berated myself for being too cowardly to give Katniss an unburned loaf of bread.

It's seven years later now, and calling Katniss and I 'acquaintances' would be generous. I long for her from afar, sticking with the friends I know from town, and even seeing a few of the merchant girls. Katniss becomes a miner and spends all her time with a her Seam boyfriend, Gale Hawthorne, who is basically everything I'm not and so good-looking that even the town girls are interested in him. He's literally tall, dark, and handsome, while I'm pale, pasty, and stocky. It's pretty hopeless, and I'm embracing that hopelessness.

I know there'll be trouble when we receive our shipment of flour from the train, and one of the sacks is spoiled. Rainwater it seems like, although the sky is vivid with the orange of sunset, and it hasn't rained for weeks. Probably spoiled en route. What a waste.

As I push the cart filled with the bakery's supplies from the train station, I hope that Mother won't notice it. She's been more unpleasant than usual since the Reaping. As upsetting as that is, I remind myself that it's not because I wasn't Reaped. Not even my mother wants that. Still, fear grips me when I think what might happen if she sees the spoiled sack of flour.

I lift the spoiled sack onto my shoulders to move it somewhere to dispose of later, hoping against hope that Mother won't notice it.

No such luck. No sooner is the sack on my shoulders does she appear at my side to inspect the shipment, her expression sour. She peers at the sacks of flour in the cart, and I try to move away.

"What's wrong with that sack of flour?" she says suspiciously, pointing at me.

"It's spoiled, Mother," I say evenly.

"How dare you be so careless!" she shrieks. "You've wasted 100 pounds of flour!"

My brother, Bran, who is baking nearby, comes to my defense before I can get a word in. "It probably came that way from the train, Mother," he says, his face twisted with worry.

But it's too late, or it wouldn't matter anyway. She has already snatched the rolling pin from the table where Bran is making cookies and she soundly thwacks my arm with it. She brings her arm back for another blow. This time for my face, and something in me snaps.

I'm not sure what has suddenly changed in me to stand up to my mother after years of meekly accepting her wrath. The spoilt sack of flour falls heavily from my shoulders, and I raise my arm to catch the rolling pin as it careens toward my face. I wrench it from her hands and hurl it across the room with such force that it cracks into pieces against the wall.

"Don't ever hit me again," I say angrily.

Her eyes are furious, but her face betrays amazement at my refusal to comply. She reaches her arm back to slap me, but I catch her hand and throw it away from me.

"No," I say. This statement unleashes a barrage of blows from her, and I find myself using a move from wrestling to pin her to the floor. I've not hurt her, just contained her, and she's screaming angrily and loudly enough to make my ears hurt. My heart thumps hard in my chest. What has just happened?

"You're no son of mine!" she screeches. "Get out! I never want to see you again! Get out! Get out!"

There's also a growing cacophony of voices around us, and I look up to see my father and Graham along with Bran stunned but shouting. Cleave Cartwright has also run over from the butcher shop next door, and he's gaping with astonishment at me pinning my mother to the ground. Suddenly, there are arms pulling us apart, and I release her. My father holds my mother's arm as she rushes toward me, and she turns and punches him in the jaw when he prevents her from reaching me. I turn and bolt out the back door, her yells echoing after me.

"Don't you dare come back! You ungrateful bastard! Go die in the mines for all I care!"

Light is fading fast, and I sprint until I reach the meadow where I flop down, chest heaving. I lie there for a moment, stunned, before bursting into tears. The sun has finished setting, and darkness has fallen in earnest when I stop weeping.

I sit up and rub my eyes. As I gaze at the shadows of the woods and rolling mountains, listen to the crickets chirp, and breathe in the dusky air, I start to feel somewhat better. In fact, I feel a growing sense of freedom inside me. It's terrifying and wonderful, and I'm surprised to find myself smiling. I have nothing but the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet, but I am strangely happy.

Sitting there in the meadow, I vow to myself that I will no longer live in fear of my mother's temper. I won't be tied to the bakery out of fear to do any other occupation. The bakery and town life is not an option for me now, anyways.

For a moment, I hold onto that identity as a merchant's son, a baker's son. My friends and family. It's all I've ever known.

I'm not helpless, though. I'm eighteen, and that's old enough to work in the mines.

I spend a rough night in the meadow, jumping at every sound, imagining predators undeterred by the district fence. No one comes to look for me. In the morning, my clothes and hair are damp with dew, and my stomach growls with hunger, having missed dinner and breakfast. I make my way to the mining office located outside the entrance to the mines where I'm easily signed up as a miner.

The mining agent looks curiously at my blonde hair and blue eyes as I fill out the paperwork. When I get to the address, I embarrassedly explain that I'm homeless. She nods mutely, before filling in an address and turning the paper around for me to read.

"That's your new address," she says, pointing to the address she wrote in. "The mining barracks."

The mining barracks are infamous in town gossip for the supposed wildness of the unattached men and women who live there. But what was I expecting? I do feel a twinge of unease, though. I bet I'll be the only person there from town.

I'm issued three uniforms and bandanas, a hard hat with headlamp, goggles, headlamp, gloves, and boots. The uniforms and gloves are a faded blue color, and I vaguely wonder who wore them before me and why they no longer need them. I probably don't want to know. The hard hat is rusty and alarmingly battered with dents, its original paint only visible in a few streaks of orange. Strangely enough, the boots seem new. I've never had new shoes. I take them into my hands, observing the shiny black leather and laces. My thoughts are interrupted as the agent instructs me to put on the uniform and be at the tunnel entrance in an hour for the first orientation shift. I take off my own shoes and pull on the coveralls over my shirt and pants. I then carefully put on the new boots and lace them up. Hard hat on my head, I wish there was a mirror to see my transformation.

The sun has risen by the time I'm at the mine entrance, and although I'm early, I'm one of several gathered there. They are from the Seam, but we all shared classes together, because we're all eighteen. Their thin faces peer at me curiously, and I know that I'm not the only one who's hungry.

"You're the wrestler, right?" asks one of them after a minute of awkward silence. His name is Cam, I think. I remember him from our Panem history class this last year of high school. Katniss Everdeen was in that class, too. I was too preoccupied by her presence to truly notice him before. I knew he was from the Seam. But despite his dark hair and tan skin, his eyes are a startling green.

"Yeah," I answer. "I'm Peeta." I hold out my hand, and we shake.

"Cam," he confirms, and I nod.

He doesn't ask why I'm here. Everyone knows why. If you're here, it means you have no other options.

The others offer up their names, and it's strange meeting people you've vaguely known your whole life, but never talked to. The rift between the town and the Seam can be hard to bridge. My eyes linger on Daisy, so tiny and thin. Her huge grey eyes are disturbingly void of emotion as they stare out from her bony face. She's from the children's home. This must be her eighteenth birthday then, the day she is released from the home and then obliged to enter the mines.

The orientation gets underway, with a middle-aged miner leading the way into the mine entrance. He describes safety measures as we walk along the mine's path sloping down. To be honest, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of safety measures. He advises us to "keep an eye out for anything falling" and to wear our bandanas across our mouth and nose as much as possible.

"Black lung," he tells us, then coughs for effect. "You're probably gonna get it anyway, but you better hope that's later than sooner."

The others nod, and I think of the bakery and the fresh scent of yeast, spices, and sugar. I tie on my bandana as we follow our guide to a set of elevators.

"Coal mining's been happening here for millennia," he tells us as we descend. "It's why we gotta dig so deep now. Capitol sends us equipment to pump air down for us to breathe. Coal is essential to Pamen."

When the elevator doors open, I gasp at the unexpected site of a subterranean lake. Its black water laps before us. I strain my eyes and barely make out an enormous cavern in the darkness.

"Headlamps!" calls out our leader. "Switch 'em on only when you need to. A replacement comes outta your salary."

We all fumble with the helmets, searching for the lamp switch. My headlamp lights up, and I jump a bit. The others are startled, too, as our lights take in the crowd of miners that has suddenly appeared around us. Our guide laughs.

"Initiation, folks!" he cries. "All us miners go through with it. And you're gonna get picked for teams, today, too. All newbies, take off your boots and helmets."

We hesitate a moment before complying. I'm nervous, wondering what exactly 'initiation' means - and why we can't have on our boots or hard hats.

Cam shouts as he's suddenly raised up by several miners and promptly tossed into the black lake. Terror grips me as Cam thrashes in the water, shrieking that he can't swim. The miners around us burst out laughing, and one calls out, "Just stand up kid!" Cam finds his feet and stands in the shallow water, as a chorus of hoots and laughter goes up around us. Drenched and shamefaced, Cam stumbles to the shore. I hold out my hand to him, and pull him the last couple steps.

"Thanks," he mumbles to me.

"Don't mention it. I would have thought I was drowning, too," I admit.

"Can't swim," he says, lips pursed.

"None of us can," I assure him.

He smiles a little, and I clap him on the shoulder. I think I've made a friend.

We're both soon distracted by Daisy being tossed into the water. For such a small person, she sure can scream. Her blood curdling shriek echoes off the cavern walls as though a crowd of women were screaming. The miners don't laugh too much at her initiation. She glares at everyone as she wades back to shore.

I brace myself for my turn, and when it comes, manage to maintain my dignity. The water is cold, and I thrash only a moment before my feet find the gritty bottom. I grin sheepishly as I make it back to dry land, and I'm welcomed with pats on the back by the miners who threw me in.

I join Cam who is trying to dry himself. He yanks off the coveralls to wring them out, his wet shirt and pants underneath plastered to his thin body. I push my wet hair out of my eyes. Shouts and splashes from the rest of our teammates and the resounding laughter of the miners reverberate around the cavern. Copying Cam, I unfasten the coveralls and yank them off to wring out the water. There's not much else I can do to dry myself really. I suppress a shiver.

"Peeta Mellark?"

My heart skips a beat. I'd know that voice, _her_ voice, anywhere. I turn and blink at the bright headlight in my face. I barely make out the miner beyond the light of her headlamp. She switches off the light, muttering an apology. As my eyes adjust, I see her female frame hidden by the bulky coveralls of the mining uniform. She pushes up her safety goggles to reveal her silver eyes.

"Katniss?" I ask, though it couldn't be anyone else.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Coal mining," I say, "just like everyone else." I shrug nonchalantly, despite the pounding of my heart. Katniss Everdeen is talking to _me_.

"But you're from town," she says, confused.

"Not anymore," I reply.

She looks like she wants to say more, but then she just gives a nod and walks away. I watch as she joins a group of miners by the lake, wishing I could have said more. But I'm always tongue-tied when it comes to Katniss Everdeen.

"Peeta Mellark!"

I jerk to attention at the sound of my name again.

"You're joining Dana's team," announces a miner, whose headlamp is focused on the clipboard in his hands. "Cam Weyhill, too." I'd almost forgotten we're being assigned to mining teams.

"Over here," comes an authoritative voice, and I glance over to see a middle-aged woman with steely, grey eyes.

Cam and I yank on our wet coveralls, grab our boots and headlamps and make our way to her. She's surrounded by a few other miners who shake our hands and offer up their names. Rook, Tansy, Fallon, Denton. All are Seam born and raised, and they observe me curiously, but kindly. My flicker of hope that Katniss is on Dana's team fades, but I think I've found a friend in Cam and in my new teammates.

I was sure there would be no upside to mining, and mining truly is grueling, sooty work. But there is a heartening sense of camaraderie among the teams of miners, who tease and encourage one another as we fill exhausting quotas. There is also a strange, stark beauty to the blackened tunnels and caverns we pass through to reach the pockets of ore. Arresting rock formations, massive caverns filled with stalactites and stalagmites, even a grotto here and there sparkling with minerals, and the subterranean lake of black, rippling water.

I needn't have worried about the barracks. After living there for only a few days, it was obvious that the barracks were clearly blown out of proportion in merchant teenagers' minds. Sure, it's rough compared to the apartment over the bakery that I grew up in. But it's not terrible. There are separate sections for men and women. Those who live there are primarily straight out of high school and not yet wed. There are some, though, who are older, without spouses or children. Some of them, like Tansy and Fallon are my teammates, and Daisy lives in the barracks, too. I also get to know the others. Thom is a friend of Gale's who lives in the barracks, and despite my dislike of Gale, I enjoy Thom's company. Cam visits often, although he lives with his family in the Seam.

My baking skills are welcomed in the barracks' battered kitchen. Supplies are not readily available, but put together a dozen people, and something always works out. Miners are issued a monthly ration of tesserae grain, a few cans of vegetables, and maybe some potatoes. Tesserae flour is coarse, but lack of yeast is the real issue. Seam folks typically bake flat, dense, unleavened bread, unless they purchase it from the Mellark bakery. There's no way I'm going anywhere near the bakery, so I made unleavened bread as well. But after a few weeks, I braved the Hob for the first time and traded two cans of vegetables for a small jar of yeast. Since then I've been fashioning perfectly fine loaves of bread. The others in the barracks now pool their tesserae flour for me to bake with. In return for the bread, they share a variety of useful and edible items, contraband and otherwise. It makes it easier to share what we have to eat, and in some ways, I feel like I'm part of an odd, misfit family.

Life takes on a new routine. Now part of the Seam, I rise at dawn and go to the mines six days a week. Sundays, I bake. I begin to make friends. I am actually starting to like this new life.

We're deep underground mining in the southern shaft one day, a few months since I arrived in the Seam, when lunch is called. The team pauses our labor gratefully and hustles to where we stashed our packs, finding our lunch pails and sitting down to eat. I hungrily bite into the bread I packed for myself.

"I'll trade you an apple for a slice of bread," says Cam as he sits down beside me.

"Deal," I say, eagerly accepting the apple from him and passing him a slice of bread. "Where did you get an apple?" I happily take a bite and observe Cam pull another apple out for himself. "Mmm it's been a while since I had one."

"Liss Brookefire has an apple tree in her yard, and the apples are getting ripe now," says Cam.

"That still doesn't explain how you got the apples," I tease, grinning knowingly at him.

Cam blushes.

"So you and Liss, huh," I say and nudge his shoulder.

"Yeah, I hope so," he says. "How about you, Peeta?"

"Um… there's this one girl," I say hesitantly.

"Oh yeah?"

"You want some green beans?" I offer, pulling a can from my lunch pail.

"Generous, thanks," says Cam as I pry the lid off the can. "But nice try. Who's the girl?"

I shrug and stick a spoonful of green beans in my mouth. Cam grins, accepting the can and spoon from me to take a bite.

"I don't think she knows me," I mutter.

"Well, talk to her then," says Cam. "Is she from the Seam?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"All the best girls are," smiles Cam.

I snort, and we share the rest of the can in silence.

At the end of the day, our team wearily makes our way to the surface. As we exit the mine's west entrance, the setting sun greets us, the evening sky in vivid pastels of soft orange and dusky pink. I pause, absorbing the image and wishing I had some way to draw it.

"You alright, Peeta?" asks Cam.

"Yeah, fine," I say, starting to walk back to the Seam.

Cam's words stick with me, but I fall back into old habits. I can't help watching Katniss when I'm lucky enough to be near her. Just like in school. And just like school, I'm too cowardly to talk to her. And just like in school, she spends most of her time with Gale Hawthorne.

I watch Gale and Katniss, and I wait miserably for news of their engagement.

When another Seam girl shows an interest in me, I respond to her. Stella is dark-haired, petite, and slight like Katniss, but much less intimidating. She comes from a large family and lives in crowded conditions at the edge of the Seam. While it is mostly pleasant to spend time with her, she's not Katniss, and I often feel that the desperation of Stella's circumstances taints our relationship.

It's not just boyfriends and girlfriends anymore. We're marrying age now. And I only want to marry Katniss. So what am I doing? And would Katniss even want to marry me?

Several of my merchant friends from school announce they're getting married. Some of them invite me to their Toastings. I even take Stella to one, and as we walk back to the Seam afterward, she hauls me over to the slag heap.

"Stella," I protest.

She ignores me, unbuttoning the front of her dress.

"I can't," I tell her gently. "I won't let you risk this."

"Peeta," she pleads, and I can see the desperation in her eyes. She thinks this will persuade me to commit to her, and it feels like a rock has dropped into my stomach. "Please? We'll be, we'll be… married soon anyway… right, Peeta?" There's a flicker of hope and fear now, in her eyes.

My heart sinks, but a sense of clarity comes to me, like it had in the meadow when I ran away from home. I numbly shake my head.

Tears leak out from the corners of her eyes, but all of a sudden, she becomes angry. "You think you're better than me," she seethes. "But you're not, you're just Seam trash like the rest of us now."

I'm startled by her words, and for a moment, I feel like I'm back in the bakery, being berated by my mother.

I spend the next few days feeling relieved and deciding how to approach Katniss. I break my silence and confess my feelings for Katniss to Cam, who slaps me on the back and encourages me. Heartened, I ponder how to woo Katniss Everdeen.

New coal deposits are found in geologic testing, and the mining will require several teams. Sensing an opportunity to talk to Katniss, I'm chipper as we head to the new mining location. My heart clenches as we arrive at the cavern, and I realize that we'll be destroying part of it. Most of the teams have already arrived, and my dejection is somewhat eased by seeing Katniss and her team there. We're assigned to prepare a new mining section for demolition and wall supports, with the combined teams to handle the workload.

I'm thrilled as my team is sent with Katniss' team to the far side of the cavern. Despite our proximity, the work is too loud and distracting for the first several hours to even attempt a conversation. We set off small explosions of dynamite to start a tunnel, and then we hack at the rough walls in order to fit the support beams. About twenty of us are hard at work, less than a hundred yards down the tunnel, when it happens.

There's an ominous sound of shifting rock. Miners raise their heads, glancing about, edging away, but hesitating.

"Run! Get out! Get out!" It's the last thing any miner wants to hear.

All of a sudden, a crack splits open the ceiling above us, and a rumbling from overhead drowns out the shouts of the miners as they bolt for safety. Pandemonium ensues. The tunnel walls collapse as the support beams give way. Dust and falling rubble fill the air, making it hard to see and breathe. I choke, my heart in my throat, my limbs shaking, eyes searching for Katniss. She'd only been feet away - I glimpse her small form hastening for the exit and rush to her just as a tunnel wall descends on us. The underworld goes dark.

A gasping, a wheezing, tells me I'm not dead. I blink my eyes blearily, gaining consciousness. There's a throbbing pain in my head, and I feel battered and dizzy. I cough weakly.

"Peeta? Hang in there Peeta," gasps a voice before also coughing.

I try to focus through the fog in my head and register the fact that I'm being dragged. There's a light pressure on my foot, and my eyes take in Katniss, indomitable Katniss, using all her strength to pull me along.

"Almost there," she rasps.

"Katniss," I say hoarsely. "You don't have to..." I try to lift myself. "I'm awake now."

She drops my foot and scrambles to my shoulders to help me rise. I sway a bit when upright, and she steadies me by swinging my arm around her shoulder. We stumble forward through the shifting haze of coal dust, navigating the rubble. We reach the cavern and collapse and cough with all the other miners who've managed to make it this far.

"You okay?" I ask Katniss hoarsely.

She scoffs. "You're asking me if I'm okay? Are you - " she coughs, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," I wheeze. "I think so. Thanks to you."

"Couldn't leave you there," she shrugs as she checks my head.

Maybe I'm not so good, because it's then that I black out again. When I come to, I hear two voices arguing.

"How could you have put yourself in danger like that?" says a man's voice harshly. "He's too big for you to carry."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Gale" Katniss retorts. "He protected me from the wall collapse near me. He took a blow to the head. Neither of us would have gotten out of there if it wasn't for him." She pauses, then says somberly. "I'll never stop owing him."

Gale is silent for a moment. "Well, let's all get to the surface, then," he says gruffly. He notices I'm awake. "Ready to get up, Mellark?" he asks, his eyes narrowed at me, barely visible in the heavy layer of soot covering his face.

"Yeah," I gasp. I sit up slowly.

"No, he has to rest," says Katniss. Her face is blackened with soot, except for where her goggles protected her eyes.

"Better keep moving," says Gale. "We don't know how far the weaknesses go in the mine."

"Yeah, let's go," I say, getting to my feet. Katniss watches me warily.

We make our way to the elevator where a crowd of anxious miners have formed, many wounded in some way. We have to wait for three crowds to go ahead of us, and the dizziness is starting to return. As we finally rise to the surface, I feel like I might pass out again. I manage to walk out of the mine before my stomach heaves and I throw up. I shakily wipe my mouth and see Katniss hovering anxiously.

"It's okay, Katniss," I wave her off. "I'm alright.

I wobble a bit dizzily as I try to decide whether I should head to the barracks. All around me, miners are huddled together, while the wounded are carted away to the mine's infirmary, my forewoman, Dana, included.

"Okay, we're going," says Katniss at my elbow. I glance at her, surprised she's still there. She has already swung my arm over her shoulder and she tugs me along to the Seam.

"Katniss," I stammer. "What are you - where are we going?"

"My house," she grunts, focused on supporting me. I try to stand up straighter. "I'm going to have my mom look at your head."

All of a sudden, I'm yanked upward as Katniss gasps. I stave off another wave of nausea as I register the fact that I'm slung over Gale's shoulder. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" Gale gripes to Katniss, grunting at my weight.

She doesn't respond, although I can imagine her scowl. I focus on not hurling as I watch the back of Gale's steel-toed boots.

Before I know it, I'm at the Everdeen home, stripped of my coveralls and laid none-too-gently in a bed. I protest, not wanting to burden them.

Mrs. Everdeen comes into view, pale and blonde, with a somewhat vacant look in her eyes. Her cool fingers deftly feel my head, and I wince as she probes the growing bruise behind my ear. She then holds up a finger in front of my face.

"Watch," she says softly as she moves her hand slowly back and forth. She nods, satisfied. "A concussion," she says to no one in particular. "A nasty one. We need to keep an eye on him. Fetch a cool cloth, Prim."

"I can't burden you," I say and try to rise. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and several pairs of hands push me back down again.

"No, stay here, please," says another soft voice. I focus my hazy vision on Prim, Katniss' younger sister. Her blue eyes gaze calmly back at me. Her golden hair is braided back just like her sister's. "Are you injured anywhere else?" she asks.

"No," I answer. "But check Katniss. She was with me when the tunnel wall fell."

"Just bruises," says Katniss blithely. "I'm fine, little duck." But she does allow Prim to check her. Gale looks on with an unreadable expression on his face. Against my better judgment, I lean back against the pillows and decide to stay.

I remain with the Everdeens overnight. Despite my reservations, I'm pleased to have this opportunity to get to know Katniss.

A couple miners are killed in the cave-in, including one from Katniss' team, and several are injured, such as my forewoman, Dana. The infirmary cares for them - at a cost. Medical expenses are deducted from the patient's mining pay, and no pay is provided to them while they recover. I head to work the next day, rather sluggish, but grateful I'm not more seriously injured. Some miners pass around a lunch pail to chip in for the injured miners, and I put in a few coins. Dana hobbles back to mining a week later, her broken arm in a sling, and her sprained ankle wrapped up tightly.

Katniss keeps in touch with me after my recovery. We slowly begin to spend time together, and I savor every moment.

Cam and Liss marry, and soon after that, to my astonishment, Gale marries a feisty Seam beauty named Sasha. I'm not sure what to think, but I understand better when Sasha gives birth to a baby boy only six months after their Toasting.

Katniss and I grow together. She starts to let me hold her hand, and she even tells me about her father and hunting outside the district fence. She fashions sketching charcoals for me. She tells me that she used to come to my wrestling tournaments in school. Then one day, she finally brings up the apple tree and the burned bread.

"I've been meaning to thank you," she says softly, drawing me into an alleyway as we walk back from working late in the mines. She bites her lip and nervously shuffles her feet. "You saved our lives that day. I feel like I'll never be able to stop owing you."

"You don't owe me for anything, Katniss," I tell her, grasping her hand. "If anything, I feel terrible that I wasn't brave enough to give you _un_ burned bread. I'm a coward."

"No, you're not," she says quietly, and for once, I feel that maybe I'm not a coward. She stands up on the tips of her toes and kisses me lightly on the lips.

I pull her into the shadows of the alley and lean against the building while I take her in my arms and kiss her. We passionately embrace, lips locked, and I deepen the kiss with deliberate slowness. Our tongues touch tentatively, before I gently pull away. Katniss stands there with a somewhat stunned expression on her face. She touches her lips as if she can't believe what has happened. I start to chuckle, when I'm cut short by her lips crashing back against mine. I'm startled, but I return the kiss feverishly. The kiss builds in intensity, our arms gripping, stroking, and caressing. I'm starting to wonder where this is going, but I can hardly string together a coherent thought. So I just pull her tighter against me and keep my lips on hers.

A tremendous clap of thunder overhead brings us to our senses.

It's followed by a burst of lightning that vividly illuminates the dirt roads and worn buildings of the Seam for one blinding second.

"Come on," I say and grab her hand.

We're almost to her home when it starts to pour. I hastily but gently push her up the front steps so she can get out of the rain. I step back, but Katniss is still gripping my hand. I look up at her, and she sheepishly lets go. A slow smile spreads across my face. She blinks at me, as leaks in the porch roof wet her hair. She murmurs, "Goodbye."

"Bye," I say as she turns and opens the door to go into the house. I stand there idiotically in the rain for a few moments. When there's another clap of thunder, I hurry back to the barracks. I slide a bit on the muddy roads, and I'm a wet and muddy mess when I burst through the door of the barracks. Thom and Daisy glance up from where they are playing checkers at the kitchen table.

"Is it raining?" asks Thom with a knowing glint in his eye.

"Yeah," I answer breathlessly, unable to contain my grin.

I am a besotted fool after that first kiss, and thankfully Katniss indulges me with plenty more kissing over the next few months. It feels like my dream has come true... well, almost.

"Marry me, Katniss," I say breathlessly one day.

"Yes," she says.

My heart leaps, and I almost feel dizzy with exhilaration. I wasn't sure what she would say, but I wasn't expecting a simple yes. Before I can do or say anything though, Katniss chokes, "My plan would have worked, you know, if you hadn't come to the Seam." Her eyes fill with tears, and I'm frozen in surprise. Then she turns and runs away. I stumble after her.

"Katniss, wait!" I holler.

She looks back but doesn't stop running. I follow, confused, as she runs for the meadow. She makes for the fence and quickly slides underneath. I skid to a stop at the fence and jerk back when I hear the buzzing of the electric current. Katniss stands on the other side. Our eyes meet across the barrier.

"Katniss," I say, trying to catch my breath. "What, what's happening? Are we engaged?"

Tears sparkle in her silver eyes and trickle down her cheeks. "I've failed," she tells me.

It feels like my heart is breaking. Tears well in my own eyes.

"Before you, I promised myself I would never marry. I would never fall in love and be weak like my mother. I would never risk my children being Reaped. I would never have to do more than take care of my mother and sister, which is hard enough. Before you, my promise was easy.

"But you - I couldn't stop thinking of you. Of your kindness. How you saved our lives. But we didn't talk, and you stayed away - you were from town. It was easier that way. Then you came to the Seam…

"You mean too much to me, Peeta," she chokes. "I can't avoid you. I love you." Then she runs off into the woods.

"I don't want children," she says the next day.

We're sitting in the meadow, watching the bits of fluff from dandelion heads blow about in the breeze and trying to repair the damage from the day before.

"I know," I reply slowly. "We can try… not to."

Katniss' jaw tightens. She knows we can't avoid intimacy. Not with the way our kissing has been. We'll never be able to avoid each other.

"My mother," she hesitates, "knows some ways to make it less likely."

"Okay," I say softly. I try to resign myself to a life without children, but all I can think of is a baby that looks like Katniss. I can't help it. I've always wanted children, especially with Katniss. But she's right. There's the rough instability of life in the Seam and the danger of the mines. And of course, there's the Reaping. No child is safe in District 12. Could I ever live with myself for selfishly wanting a child only to endanger it by its own existence? No. I couldn't do that. So, I sigh and try to release the image of the dark-haired baby.

A couple weeks later, I head to town to visit the bakery. I'm relieved to find Bran on the front porch, sweeping.

"I'm engaged," I tell him. "To Katniss." As if I need to add that.

"Oh," he says startled. He leans on the broom handle. "Um, congratulations."

"Thanks," I say warmly. "Our toasting is next week on Sunday. You're welcome to come."

"Oh," says Bran, still trying to process the fact that I'm engaged. "Thanks, I'll uh…"

"Mom's not invited," I add, my voice hardening. "Not that she would come anyways."

Bran nods. "It's good to see you, Peeta. You seem… really happy." He smiles sadly.

"I am," I confirm with a nod. "I've never been happier."

Bran flinches at this, and I feel some chagrin. "I miss you," I add. "How's your wife and daughter?"

We catch up for a while, enjoying one another's company, until our mother appears and screeches at me. I glare at her and leave, her voice ringing throughout the town as I walk back to the Seam.

It's late Friday night when Thom wakes me, bleary-eyed.

"It's your family," he says, as he shakes my shoulder.

"What?" I ask, confused.

I go to the kitchen, where my father, Bran, and Graham are there at the table. The table is laden

with a small box of eggs, a container of oil, cake pans, and measures of sugar and the finest white flour we have at the bakery. My brothers grin at me, and my father says, "You should have a nice wedding cake."

Tears spring to my eyes, and I'm too choked up to say anything. Bran puts his arm around my shoulders. "Thank you," I finally manage to say. "Thank you so much."

We carefully make the wedding cake that night. There are enough ingredients to use both the large and medium cake pans that my family brought, and we carefully fill them with the cake batter. Katniss and I are going to have a tiered wedding cake. Just like the cakes only the wealthiest merchants in District 12 can afford.

The next day, I manage to leave work early, and I head straight for the Everdeen house. Prim opens the door. "Peeta!" she exclaims joyfully. "Katniss isn't home yet, though."

"I know," I say. "Do you have any jam?" I ask her.

She looks at me curiously. "Yes," she answers. "Come on in."

"Uh, can't," I say. "I'm in a hurry. I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she says. "Just a minute." She disappears into the house, while I anxiously look

around for Katniss' arrival. Then Prim is back with a small jar of blackberry preserves. "It's still sealed shut," she says. "From blackberries Katniss picked this summer."

"Thank you," I breathe. "This is perfect."

"So what is this for?" Prim asks.

"Can you keep a secret?" I grin.

"Yes," says Prim, smiling.

"There's going to be a wedding cake," I say. "Just don't tell Katniss. I want her to be surprised."

Prim's eyes go round with delight. "A cake," she beams. "A wedding cake!"

"Shhhh," I hush her, smiling. "It's a surprise, remember?"

"I won't breathe a word," Prim assures me.

At the barracks, I cut the cake tiers in half, lengthwise, and cement them back together with a slathering of blackberry jam. I then stack the layers and begin to frost. My father and brothers were generous with the frosting ingredients and food dyes, knowing how much I enjoyed decorating the bakery's cakes. I'm taken back to all the times I frosted cakes for toasting, trying to pipe whatever was special to the bride and groom. Most wanted flowers or swirls. I know what Katniss would like, though, and it's not flowers. Smiling to myself, I mix the colors and begin to pipe.

For our toasting bread, I lovingly bake a hearty loaf filled with raisins and nuts. I remember the last time I gave Katniss bread like this, burned and battered. Perhaps, somehow, it gave me hope for a future with her, and I know it saved her. This will be the perfect bread for toasting; bread we can burn and share together for our own future. The loaf is almost the same as the one from when we were eleven, but not quite. When it comes time to shape it, I hesitate for a moment before twisting it into a braid.

Dawn is breaking when I finish. I carefully box up the cake's tiers and toasting bread and set them in a cupboard for safekeeping, before tumbling into bed for a few hours' rest.

The next morning, I walk to the Everdeen home. I'm practically quivering with excitement, unable to believe I'm actually marrying the girl of my dreams today. I skip up the front steps of the Everdeen's porch and knock on the front door. It swings open at once to reveal Prim in her nicest dress and her braided hair bedecked with wildflowers. She beams at me and tucks a pink primrose in my breast pocket.

"Now you're ready," she says. She steps back, and then Katniss is there. My breath hitches as I take in my bride. She wears a pale blue dress of such finery that it must have been made by the town's dressmaker. Katniss' cheeks are rosy with self-consciousness, her dark hair braided and woven with wildflowers, like Prim's.

"Madge Undersee insisted I borrow this dress," she says awkwardly.

"It's perfect," I assure her breathlessly. "You're perfect." I wrap my arms around her and kiss her softly on the lips.

Mrs. Everdeen, wearing a neat, but faded town dress from her youth, comes into the room and clears her throat at us. "Okay," she interrupts. "Let's go get you married."

Katniss scowls, and I laugh. Prim grins shyly.

We walk hand in hand to the Justice Building to sign the marriage documents and receive our housing allotment. Simply signing my name on the marriage petition form is an emotional event. I find myself holding back tears as the official stamps the form and tells us we are now Peeta and Katniss Mellark. The official then opens a box of well-worn wedding rings and has us each select one that fits. I insist on slipping the ring Katniss chooses onto her finger, and she blushes at my touch. We receive our housing assignment and the battered set of keys with it, before reuniting with the Everdeens just outside the Justice Hall.

We're startled by the sight of my father and brothers, my mining team, Madge Undersee, Delly Cartwright, Cam and Liss Weyhill, and the Hawthornes standing alongside the Everdeens.

My father pulls me into a hug. "Congratulations, son!" he exclaims.

"Thank you!" I reply, surprised but pleased. "I'm so happy you came!" My brothers also embrace me, sharing their congratulations.

"You have a beautiful bride," Bran says.

Delly kisses my cheek and hugs Katniss, who is so taken aback that she returns the hug. Madge shyly shakes both our hands, and Cam throws his arm around my shoulders.

Mrs. Everdeen gives me a solemn kiss on the cheek.

"I'm very happy for you," she tells us.

"Thank you," I reply, overwhelmed by everyone's affection. My eye catches sight of Katniss and Gale speaking quietly with one another, and my stomach flips nervously out of habit. I watch as he kisses her cheek before they part. Katniss returns to my side, and Gale finds his own wife. I gratefully grab Katniss' hand and twine my fingers with hers.

Everyone follows us to our new house. As we arrive at the front door, there are cheers and shouts of congratulations, and a chorus of the marriage song rises from the crowd. I lift Katniss into my arms to cross the threshold, and we fumble with the keys to unlock the door. Everyone laughs and comes inside with us. As they work to light the first fire of our new home, I whisper to Katniss that I'll be right back, and I'm gone before she can protest.

I race back to the barracks and fetch the cake and Toasting bread. Thom and Daisy help me carry the boxes of cake and the wrapped loaf to my new home. We arrive just as Prim and Mrs. Everdeen do with stacks of tin plates and a pile of forks and spoons. They managed to slip away, too. We grin at each other, thrilled with the surprise. Everyone is somewhat suspicious when we come through the door, Katniss especially.

"No looking!" I yell out good-naturedly, and everyone looks away, grinning.

I quickly pull the tiers of the cake from their boxes and carefully stack the cake together. I hear a gasp and look over to see Prim staring at the cake with wide eyes.

"Oh, Peeta!" she squeals.

"Shhh!" I shush her with a smile, as I quickly line up the top tier. "Okay," I announce to everyone. "You can look now."

There are gasps of astonishment and shouts of delight as they all see the cake. But I have eyes only for Katniss, who stands speechless, her pretty mouth hanging slightly open.

"Do you like it?" I ask, grinning madly.

"I - I can't believe - " she stammers.

She stares at the cake, decorated with trees and shrubs, a meadow, and woodland creatures.

The Hawthornes push her forward until she stands beside me, and then we're pressured to finally do the Toasting. We kneel by the fireplace, and I unwrap the bread. Katniss breathes in sharply when she sees what kind of bread we will be toasting with. I squeeze her hand, worry creasing my brow. A tear trails down her cheek.

"I'm fine," she assures me, before I can say anything. "Because of you. Thank you. I love you."

My heart swells with joy, and I hurriedly slice the bread. We spear the bread on a fork and, together, hold it out to the flames. Quiet falls as we all watch the flames flicker against the slice of bread, studded with nuts and raisins.

"Ready?" Katniss whispers, and I nod.

The bread is partially burnt, the raisins melting. With burning fingers and tongues we each take a bite, as our family and friends cheer. I lean forward to kiss my wife.

We then cut the cake, and everyone gathers around eagerly, exclaiming over the frosted woods. I hear the guests murmuring that this the best Toasting they have ever been to, and I smile. It truly is. I didn't know it was even possible to be this happy.

Later that evening, after all the guests are gone, Katniss and I sit on a blanket I spread out in front of the fireplace. We watch the dying embers, and I pull Katniss close, pressing kisses to her neck and across her shoulder. She sighs and leans against me, and I caress her with my hands, gradually working my way to her breasts. I hesitate for a moment before I cup and squeeze each one, and I feel myself harden immediately. I groan into her neck, and she allows me to gently lay her back on the blanket. She runs her hands over my shoulders and my chest, then up to my face where she holds me to her lips. I hover over her, practically panting, my weight settled between her legs as I lean on my elbows.

"Katniss," I breathe. I nuzzle her cheek, and my hands pause at the buttons of her dress. "May I?"

She nods, and I swiftly unbutton the front of her dress. We both sit up to let her slip it off, and I take a shaky breath as she removes her undershirt as well. The firelight glows against her skin, the roundness of her breasts casting shadows. I yank off my shirt and toss it aside.

"I - I haven't done this before," Katniss whispers. "You'll have to teach me."

"I haven't done this either," I laugh softly. "I was waiting for you."

Her eyes smolder at this revelation, and I lean forward to cup her cheek and kiss her lips. She exhales into my mouth and moans my name. My heart hammers in my chest, and my erection strains against my trousers. I bend to kiss her breasts, my lips wrapping around each nipple and gently tugging and licking. I nearly fall forward as Katniss lies back and pulls me down on top of her. I kiss down her stomach and pause at the waistband of her underwear. Glancing at Katniss, I see her watching me without wariness, her eyes hooded with lust. I lightly tug her underwear, and she lifts her hips, allowing me to remove the garment. I gently part her legs and, almost before I realize it, press a kiss to the apex of her thighs.

Katniss hisses with surprise and pleasure, and I halt for a moment before tentatively licking her folds. Katniss squeezes her eyes shut and gasps. I smile to myself, and gaining confidence, start to lap at the sweet wetness gathered between her thighs. I find her entrance and slip my tongue inside her. Katniss arches her back and moans, and I find a rhythm that has us both panting and groaning. I grip her hips and press my face into her womanhood, hoping I can stave off my own climax, which is throbbing at this point. I feel Katniss clench against my tongue, and her legs clamp against my ears as she cries out in ecstasy. She relaxes under me, suddenly boneless, and I come up for air, thrilled to have elicited such sounds from her, and pleased to have not come all over myself already.

"What - what do you call that?" she stammers.

"Fun?" I joke.

Instead of scowling, she laughs, and I laugh with her. I stop short as I feel her paw at the front of my pants.

"Is this good?" she asks.

"Yes," I manage to say.

She pauses long enough to unbutton my pants, and I help her tug them off. She strokes me pensively through my undershorts, and I watch her face carefully for any misgivings. Her eyes flit up to mine, and all I see is trust. I smile and lean forward to kiss her tenderly. She sighs into my mouth, and I draw back, smiling.

"Is this okay?" I ask.

"Yes," she breathes.

I remove my shorts. Exhaling shakily, I move over her, positioning myself against her entrance. I feel Katniss tense, and I soothe her with murmured words and caresses.

"It's okay, Peeta," she tells me.

Bracing myself on my elbows, I gently push into her. I stifle a groan at her tight heat, but Katniss whimpers, and I freeze.

"More," she tells me, but her eyes are shut tight against the sensation.

I carefully slide in deeper, and Katniss yelps. Hastily, I withdraw and ask if she is alright.

"I'm sorry," she stutters, as tears leak from the corners of her eyes.

"Katniss!" I say with dismay. "Don't be sorry - _I'm_ sorry that I hurt you. I never want that."

She nods at me, and I gather her into my arms. I spoon against her and dry her tears and smooth her hair. My erection is gone, sex no longer on my mind. But I've never felt closer to her than in this moment as I comfort her. She rolls over and cuddles into my chest. I pull the blanket around us, and eventually we relax and fall asleep.

I awake some hours later. Katniss is curled against me, sleeping. Our toasting fire has burned down to glowing hot embers. I'm boiling hot, sweating from the heat of the fire and Katniss' body, and I glance up at the window to discover that it is firmly shut. I stealthily disentangle myself from Katniss and rise to open the window, which creaks loudly.

"What are you doing?" Katniss asks, waking.

"Letting some air in," I say. "I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

I join her under the blanket and pull her close to me, willing myself to go back to sleep as a cool breeze wafts over us.

Over the next several weeks, we ease tentatively into our new sexuality. Or at least I try to. Despite the lingering pain Katniss experiences with intercourse, she is ravenous for sex. I try to slow her down, make her comfortable, but it's like trying to hold off a thunderstorm. Eventually, I succumb to her advances.

The small dining table that came with the house creaks dangerously as I thrust vigorously into Katniss, my hips pistoning against her, and my hands firmly gripping her hips. Katniss, splayed across the table and her legs wrapped around my waist, groans. Loudly. I pause for a moment, concerned that she's in pain, only to have her shout, "Don't stop!" I moan myself and begin thrusting again. I lean down to press steamy kisses to her neck as I grasp her hips more tightly to penetrate even deeper.

"Oh, Peeta!" Katniss cries, and I feel her clench around me as she orgasms. I grin, pleased, and pull her up to me, my hands cupping her firm backside. I manage a few precarious thrusts as I walk a couple of steps to the wall and press her against it. I bend my knees slightly to help support her weight, and then begin thrusting into her in earnest, groaning with pleasure and the effort. So, so good. This can't be real life.

Katniss presses her lips against mine, murmuring her love, and this more than anything, sends me over the edge. Sometime later, we have passionate sex on the floor before the fireplace, Katniss bent over in front of me, and then again in our new bed, spooning like tender lovers.

I can't decide whether I prefer the intense energy of screwing or the exceeding tenderness of lovemaking. Seeing Katniss bent over before me, as I steadily pound into her, sweat streaming off of us, is unbelievably erotic. But holding her close against me, nibbling on her ear and neck as I make love to her in long slow strokes is just as erotic. Katniss can't decide either, so we engage in plenty of both as we discover that frequency reduces the sexual pain. Which leads to another problem.

Conceiving a child is a constant concern for us. Yet, somehow with Mrs. Everdeen's advisement, we manage to avoid a pregnancy for two years.

I know immediately what has happened when Katniss sprints out of bed one morning and retches into the nearest bucket. She shakily accepts the glass of water I hold out to her, while I rub her back. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the terror in them. I myself feel a terrifying mixture of dread and joy.

"I'm not," Katniss says, as if willing it to be true. "I can't be."

When Katniss' nausea continues for the next week, I persuade her to see her mother. She drags her feet the whole way there, and then bursts into tears when her mother confirms what we've been suspecting. Katniss is pregnant.

Katniss becomes quiet and sullen. I alternate between providing comfort and giving her space as she wrestles with this new development. Beneath the surface, however, I'm alive with joy and excitement. Another week later, when I suggest that Katniss could stop working in the mines, Katniss lashes out, and we argue for days.

"I just want to keep saving money!" Katniss screeches at me during one of these disputes.

"You _know_ we can make it work!" I shout back. "We're doing better than most people in the Seam! You know that! Can't I take care of you?"

"It's still the Seam, Peeta!" she threw her hands in the air. "And here we are - having babies in it! I need to keep working, and it's not like it would be a bad thing if I were to - to… "

"Is that what you want Katniss?" I ask, distraught.

Silent, she stares at the floor. "Yes… and no."

I feel like my heart is being torn in two, and I try to remind myself of how she never wanted children. She had asked for a childless marriage. I had agreed.

"If that's what you want," I manage to say. "I - I will - I will - support you - love you. Always."

Her eyes lock with mine, chest heaving, before she bolts to our backdoor and vomits on the steps.

It was in that nauseous moment that she decided to have our baby. She also agreed to stop working in the mines and accepted her final pay and ration the next day.

I know, as I work in the mines, that Katniss is out beyond the district fence. I try not to think of her climbing trees, but I know she probably is. I want to confront her about it, but I feel that I better not push my luck. Katniss is more stubborn and aloof than the average person, and pregnancy has made her even moodier. At least, I comfort myself, she's getting plenty of fresh air.

We start to tell family and friends that we're expecting. Katniss' figure blossoms, her cheeks become rounder, her hips and breasts more womanly, and then everyone knows when the small swell of her belly becomes apparent.

I can't stop smiling. I hover, although I know this annoys Katniss. Her nausea fades away, and she becomes hungry again. I bake every chance I get, although her appetite is not particularly stronger than it was before she was pregnant. Anything extra we trade for baby necessities. Knitted blankets, secondhand clothing, cloth diapers. Katniss finds a nice woven basket at the Hob for the baby to sleep in for the first few months.

Katniss sleeps deeply every night, exhausted from the pregnancy, while I lie awake, holding her close, wondering what our baby will be like. I try not to fear about the future. None of those concerns has ever changed. Now we can only make the best of it.

But as we get closer to the birth, I begin to have a new fear. Childbirth is a hazardous experience in District 12 for merchants and miners alike. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to Katniss. Or our baby.

On one of the last nice Sundays of early autumn, Katniss and I share a picnic in the meadow. I can tell that she wants to go to the woods, but she's got only one month left before the baby comes, and she tires easily. She heaves a sigh of annoyance before laying her head in my lap. I play with her hair while she makes daisy chains. After a while, my hands go still.

"What?" Katniss asks.

"I wish I could just freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," I say fervently. Right now, we're happy and safe, the baby also safe within Katniss. No dangerous childbirth yet. No child yet to reap.

Katniss pauses. She knows I'm worried about the birth. "Okay," she says with a hint of a smile on her face.

"Then you'll allow it?" I ask, smiling down at her.

"I'll allow it," she confirms.

My fingers go back to her hair as she drifts off to sleep.

I'm in the mines when Katniss goes into labor a few weeks early. Apparently, the contractions began shortly after I left that morning. I arrive home to find Katniss in the final stages of labor, watched over by her mother and Prim. Katniss is red-faced and crying, exhausted. Before I can panic, Prim guides me to more thoroughly wash the coal dust from my hands. I change rapidly out of my coveralls, fumbling at the fastenings. Prim then sits me beside Katniss to wipe the tears and sweat from her face.

"It's okay, Katniss," Prim soothes. "You're almost there. Deep, slow breaths. Focus on your breathing."

Katniss is too tired even to scowl. She wilts in between contractions, and I worriedly grip her hand. I do my best to encourage and assure her, despite the horrifying thought that Katniss could die. I kiss her face and hands, smooth her hair, and assure her as calmly as I can that she is doing great and it will all be over soon. Indeterminable minutes pass, with Katniss tiredly pushing through the contractions.

Prim and her mother hover by the foot of the bed, urging Katniss to push. Katniss moans loudly, and there's finally the sound of a baby's first cry. I grip Katniss' hands, tears streaming from my own eyes. Prim hastily tends to the wailing newborn, while her mother helps Katniss deliver the afterbirth.

"There," says my mother-in-law some minutes later. "You can relax now, Katniss. You've done very well. You'll be fine, now."

I see her smiling proudly down at her daughter. I'm shaking as I relax, too. Prim is suddenly at my side, and she's handing me our baby.

"A girl," says Prim, beaming. "Healthy and perfect. Just a little bit small."

I take the infant into my arms, and I choke up. She's stopped crying, eyes closed, tired from the ordeal of being born. I gently touch the tiny fingers, the dark wisps of hair, my heart swelling with a new emotion. Something akin to joy, fear, longing. I lean over the bed for Katniss to see. She opens tired eyes and smiles.

I've heard of Capitol people having something called a vacation, a period of time when they don't work, choosing to relax or to travel somewhere. Vacations don't exist in District 12, where there's no time to relax other than Sunday or a couple Capitol-decreed holidays, and certainly nowhere to travel to. However, miners do receive one week of paid leave every time they have a baby. It's the closest thing I can imagine to a vacation. It's probably some Capitol incentive to ensure a steady population of miners to provide coal. Bakers certainly don't have the luxury of a week off from baking. I treasure this week away from the mines as we become acquainted with our baby daughter. We fawn over her, Katniss quite shamelessly. It's amusing to see fierce, tough Katniss melt completely when it comes to her baby. She cradles the newborn, pressing kisses to the downy head, and singing lullabies under her breath.

I freeze when I hear her sing to our baby. I haven't heard her sing since we were children, and Katniss has admitted to me that singing felt impossible since her father died. I guess it doesn't feel impossible anymore, and my heart soars.

The first night after the birth, as Katniss rests, she asks that we name the baby Willow, and I happily agree.

"It's such a useful tree," Katniss continues as if I hadn't agreed. "Provides medicines, is used to make baskets and fish traps - furniture, too. Besides, your drawing charcoal comes from willow branches."

I laugh. "Katniss, I like the name. You don't need to persuade me. It's perfect. Like her."

Katniss sits back in the bed, satisfied, holding Willow close. She gazes down at the baby pensively. "My father always said that I'd never starve if I could find my namesake." She traces the baby's face with her fingers. "You can build a family with _her_ namesake."

Family. That's what we are now, and Katniss seems to be reconciling herself to having a family. My heart swells, and I kiss her cheek.

We spend the week blissfully enjoying our baby, despite the fatigue of caring for her. People come by to see the baby, cooing over her and wishing us congratulations, even leaving gifts if they can manage.

When Willow is three days old, my father and brothers come to meet the baby. I beam as they take turns holding her. My father has such a look of joy on his face when he cradles her in his arms that I find any residual bitterness I held for him melting away. They come bearing fresh cookies, a couple hearty loaves of bread, and a muffin for each of us. We're moved by their generosity, and Katniss' anxious demeanor softens. She gives them each a hug when they leave a couple hours later.

I'm startled the next day, when I open the door to a peacekeeper. My heart leaps into my throat. But when the helmet is removed, I see that it's only Darius. I sigh, relieved, and let him in. Katniss and I are both unusually cautious around Darius, but he's kind and teasing as always. He admires the sleeping baby, and accepts some tea. He shyly offers a rattle as a gift before he leaves. Despite his gentleness and friendliness, Katniss and I are tense when he's gone. His presence was a reminder of life in Panem and District 12, something we've forgotten in becoming absorbed with our new baby this past week. And District 12 is not a good place for babies or children.

Our time out from reality is over. There's only so much we can do to care for her and protect her. I start to feel sick as I think of the Reaping. I can't bear the thought of Willow even experiencing the fear and distress of a Reaping. Or the unbearable thought that she might be Reaped.

As we lie in bed that night, Katniss says, "Let's only have her... one child."

My heart sinks automatically, but I readily agree. Right now, especially, I can't deal with worrying about more than one child.

When Willow is four months old, Katniss starts to feel that familiar nausea again, to our dismay. This time comes with fainting spells, too. She swoons one morning after rising from bed and tumbles to the floor. I'm frantic as I tend to her, desperately wishing there was ice for the bruise on her temple. But it's decidedly springtime, and there hasn't been snow for over a month. It's early summer when I rush to her mother's house in the middle of the night. Prim and her mother run back with me, but it's too late. The baby has been lost to a miscarriage.

Katniss is weak for several days, and Prim comes to live with us to help care for both Katniss and Willow. I'm full of guilt and grief for Katniss and our miscarried baby.

"Peeta, you need to stop blaming yourself," Prim says to me one day as she washes dishes.

Katniss and Willow are already in bed, and I'm baking crackers. When I don't answer, Prim sighs and says, "It's not your fault." She brushes past me to go check on Willow who has begun to fuss.

It is my fault, though. Katniss never even wanted children, and she was pregnant with a second baby just months after the first. It clearly had been too much for her body to handle.

Tears prick my eyes, and I wipe them away roughly as I put a sheet of crackers in the oven. Prim appears in the kitchen holding Willow who starts to cry in earnest. I sigh and take the baby in my arms, smoothing her hair and humming to her. She quiets, her blue eyes fastened on mine.

"See? You're a wonderful father," Prim says. "And you're so good to Katniss. She loves you so much. She'd face anything with you at her side."

Willow's eyes start to droop, and I glance at Prim who ends sadly with, "These things happen."

"Yeah," I answer. "But they don't have to."

I resolve myself to abstinence. Katniss doesn't even notice at first as she focuses on recovering. She soon gets back on her feet, back to her baby, and even back to the woods. It's not until a month has passed, when she slips her hand into my pants and kisses my neck, that I have to reaffirm my resolution. I distract her with everything but intercourse and watch as she happily falls asleep, my heart hammering. I manage to keep this up for a couple weeks.

But one night, Katniss says, "I know what you're doing."

I look up from between her legs. "Mmm, you better," I tell her innocently. Before she can continue, I redouble my efforts, licking and sucking. I grip her hips and slide my tongue into her. She gasps, and I give a quick sigh of relief before building a rhythm that soon has her arching her back in pleasure.

"Peeta," she moans, sated.

"Shhh, Willow might hear," I hush her, hoping she'll leave it at that.

Katniss rolls her eyes. "I know what you're doing," she repeats. When I say nothing, she continues. "You're afraid we'll have another baby."

I debate denying it. "Aren't you afraid, too?" I ask defensively.

"Of course," she sighs. "I'm not asking you to stop… doing what you're doing. There's nothing wrong with that. It's good, really. I'm just, I'm not… fooled."

"Okay," I whisper.

"We'll be more careful," she whispers back. "I'll see my mother tomorrow about it."

I nod and, comforted, we fall asleep in each other's arms.

The miscarriage still weighs heavy on my heart, but as the weeks and months pass, I find myself relaxing once again into the routine of life with our baby girl. Willow is growing so quickly, I find myself mourning as well as celebrating her milestones. She smiles, laughs, and crawls. Lately she has even begun to pull herself up on any piece of furniture within her reach. She cries loudly when she loses her balance and topples over, but she is easily placated. She is such a joy to Katniss and I, that I can't quite understand how we ever felt happy and fulfilled before her birth.

"She has your eyes," Katniss murmurs one evening as she sits up in bed breastfeeding our baby.

I lie next to them on the bed, sketching their image of domestic bliss. I pause and lean closer. Willow blinks sleepily up at me as she nurses. Katniss and I both smile down at her.

"I guess so," I say. I touch the baby's dark hair. "But she has your hair."

"Mmmm," sighs Katniss. "Guess so."

We're quiet for a while as Katniss switches Willow to her other breast, and I continue to sketch.

"I love her," says Katniss fervently. "More than I could have dreamed."

I glance up at her, grinning broadly at her words. I love it when she talks like this.

"What are we going to do when she hits Reaping age, Peeta?" she says next. Her lip trembles.

The grin drops from my face. This is the last thing I want to talk about.

"Katniss… " I say hesitantly. "Let's not think about that now."

"Well, _when_ , Peeta?" she asks angrily.

Willow squirms at the sudden tension and starts to fuss. I'm grateful for the distraction as Katniss tends to her.

"Is she full?" I ask and Katniss nods. "Here I'll put her down," I say and pick up the baby. I pat her back and carry her to the crib at the foot of our bed. She relaxes, and I lay her down in the crib and stroke her full belly. Her blue eyes flutter shut, and my heart swells with the overpowering love of a parent. I am so relieved and grateful that she is well-fed, loved, and cared for.

But so much is stacked against her.

How can I ensure that her life will always be as it is now?

I can't, and I feel an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

Instead of joining Katniss in bed, I snatch my sketchbook and head to the kitchen table. Katniss watches me leave the bedroom, but says nothing. By the light of a candle, I feverishly draw an older Willow, a 12-year-old Willow. I scribble in town buildings and the Justice Hall almost tearing the paper with my frantic sketching. Then with slow, deliberate strokes, I draw a Reaping ball.

I drop the pencil and stare at the drawing. Indeterminable minutes pass as I gaze at the image of my daughter and the Reaping ball on the steps of the Justice building. The candle flickers, about to burn out. I flip the sketch over, blow out the candle, and go to bed with a heavy heart.

The drawing has vanished when I come into the kitchen in the morning. Its whereabouts are not forthcoming from Katniss. She gives me a long look as she laces up her hunting boots. I sigh and assemble a makeshift breakfast of bread, soft goat cheese, and an apple.

"I used to make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," I say.

"Sounds expensive," says Katniss, reaching for a slice of bread.

"Yeah, too expensive for my family to eat," I say, and Katniss tenses beside me. "Unless it was very stale. Of course, almost everything we ate was stale."

"Peeta," Katniss says quietly.

"Hmm?" I take a bite of bread spread with goat cheese topped with a slice of apple. Sometimes I can't believe this is my life now.

"I love you," she says and kisses my cheek. She adds hurriedly, "Here is your lunch."

She sets my lunch pail down next to me before going to the crib where Willow has begun to cry. I put on my mining gear while Katniss deftly changes Willow's diaper then starts to nurse her. I think of last night, and my missing sketch of Willow's Reaping. I sigh and flip through my sketchbook until I find the first sketch from last night. The sketch of Katniss nursing Willow on our bed. My fingers trace the image. Then I cross the room to crouch by Katniss.

"Here," I proffer, holding out the sketch.

She takes it from me gingerly, but her wariness dissipates as she sees the picture.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I kiss her forehead and stand, ready to leave for the mines.

"Peeta," Katniss says gently.

I bend to caress her cheek.

"I could face anything with you at my side," she tells me. Her chin quivers.

"I just want to protect you both," I reply. I feel as though I'm about to cry.

"I know," she says and rests her hand on top of mine.

Two years pass. I work in the mines and Katniss hunts. Together, we raise our daughter. Willow grows into a sweet, demanding toddler. The seasons pass slowly, but without famine or mining accidents. We take Willow to observe her first Reaping, then her second. She is blissfully unaware of either of them and sleeps through most of the mandatory viewings of the Games.

We watch as the tributes struggle to survive in a rugged, snow-capped mountain range in the 81st Hunger Games, then a desolate crumbling city filled with muttations in the 82nd. Neither of District 12's tributes survive. Gale welcomes his third child, a daughter, during the 82nd Hunger Games, and Prim and Gale's brother, Rory, have a toasting soon after the victor is announced.

I bake their wedding cake and toasting bread, and all seems joyful on the surface. But Katniss dissolves into tears when we get home, crying for Prim and Willow, and Gale's newborn, Lena. She's inconsolable and cries herself to sleep, while I hover anxiously. So I'm relieved the next evening to see fried rabbit and mashed katniss tubers on the kitchen table when I come home from the mines. Katniss calmly sits at the table with Willow in her lap, and I feel like life has returned to normal.

Later, I sketch and Katniss soothes and rocks our daughter to sleep. Willow is tucked into her trundle bed. Katniss glances at me sketching away, and I pause, trying to get the tilt of her head just right. I turn back to my drawing pad, biting my lip as I focus on sketching. I'm startled when Katniss wraps her arms around me. I smudge out the scratch mark the pencil made when I jumped and give Katniss a kiss on the cheek. She mumbles something into my neck that I answer with a vague "Hmmm?"

"I'm pregnant," she says more clearly, and my hands still.

"Oh," I swallow.

"I took a test earlier," she explains. "At my mother's. " She crawls onto my lap, and I gather her in my arms.

"That's wonderful, Katniss," I say, getting over my surprise. "I love you. It will be okay."

"How's this going to be okay?" Katniss asks, her voice breaking.

"Because you're a wonderful mother," I murmur. "Because life is good right now. And I will never let anything happen to you, Willow, or our new baby. Ever."

I can sense the falseness of my protection, but it doesn't mean it shouldn't be said. Katniss doesn't comment on it, either. I rock her in my arms, whispering that everything will be just fine. That another baby is just what our family needs. I tease her that Willow would become spoiled. That we still need to have a baby with grey eyes. Katniss sighs, but I coax a small smile from her.

I keep an eagle eye on her after that to catch her should she faint, but this pregnancy is easy compared to the last two, with little to no morning sickness and no fainting. I breathe easier as the pregnancy progresses, healthy and fine. Katniss' slim figure fills in as the winter months pass. I hover once again, baking too much and trading the excess for baby necessities.

It is a hard winter for many in the Seam. Snow falls thickly on the ground and remains for months. This winter is much colder than previous years. For the worst off in the Seam this means a terrible choice between heating their home or eating. You can see starving, frozen people throughout the Seam. I make bad trades to give bread to folks. I don't tell Katniss, but I think she knows. And I'm pretty certain she's making unfair trades in the Hob as well. I fret over Willow, although our family isn't facing the difficulties others are. Yet.

Willow is bundled and well-fed. Our home is heated and warm.

Katniss supplements our homemade bread and mining rations with her findings from the woods. Roots dug from the beneath the snow, rabbits and squirrels. I fear for her out there in the frozen wilderness, especially since she's pregnant. I insist she never goes alone, and, thankfully, she listens to me. Her Sundays are spent not with me, but with Gale and Rory in the woods, scavenging, trapping, and hunting. It's hard to be apart from her on my one day off from the mines, but I'm relieved that she is safe in the company of the Hawthornes. Willow and I spend our winter Sundays playing and baking in anticipation of fried squirrel or rabbit stew, hoping anxiously that Katniss will return safely.

The winter solstice is meagre this year. It still livens up District 12 nonetheless. Despite the barriers between the town and the Seam, the people gather together for the festival to drink cider and weak ale. Everyone enjoys the fiddle music and dancing. There are booths set up to sell trinkets as well as small meat pies and cookies for those who can afford it. Greasy Sae hawks a questionable soup at her booth that still draws plenty of people. Ripper works the ale station, offering white liquor from beneath the table to any with an extra coin. I see my father and Bran at a booth selling cookies and tarts.

My mother is there as well, glaring at the gaunt Seam folk who venture too close. I give their stand wide berth as Katniss and I walk through the festival towards the town center where the dancing is. Willow, perched on my shoulders, laughs delightedly at the twirling couples. We find Cam and Liss, flushed from dancing, sitting on the ground nearby. They eagerly offer to take Willow so Katniss and I can dance. Although Katniss scowls, my heart leaps, and I lead her into the melee.

Katniss' stubbornness fades as we dance, and she starts to smile. Her cheeks grow rosy, and she glows. I'm transfixed by how lovely she is. I still have trouble believing that she agreed to marry me. That we have a little girl and another baby arriving in the spring. The song ends, and I know all eyes are on us. The rare merchant-Seam couple.

Before Katniss leaves the dance floor, I pull her close to me and deliberately caress the barely noticeable swell of her pregnancy beneath her coat. There. Now everyone knows. Katniss tenses at my public display, and I can tell she's displeased. Outwardly, though we walk companionably over to our daughter, Cam, and Liss. I'm not sure yet if I need to apologize, but I know I don't regret it. Katniss has been worried that she may appear to others that she's heavier from eating too well, not from pregnancy. Especially in a winter like this that has left so many families hungry. District 12 folks are aware that our family eats better than most from Katniss' hunting and my baking.

Reapings and Hunger Games weigh on my mind as I work in the mines the next day. I'm more quiet than usual, lost in my own thoughts. I almost don't notice when our team's forewoman announces lunch hour. I go to my pack to fetch my lunch pail, when Cam lays a hand on my arm.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, giving him my attention.

He glances around. "Not here."

He tugs on my arm, and we slip away down the tunnel, unnoticed by the rest of our team. Cam leads me to a small opening in the tunnel wall. Perplexed, I follow him into the tight space. After several feet, it opens into a small cave. Cam turns and looks at me expectantly as I join him.

In the privacy of the cave, I learn that there is a secret rebel group in District 12 seeking to undermine the Capitol. Cam tells me that the rebels will fight for a world with no Reaping, no Hunger Games, no tyrannical Capitol. The rebels are soldiers in the fight for freedom.

"Will you join us?" Cam asks.

"Soldiers," I murmur. "War."

Cam is silent, observing me.

"No…" I say slowly. "No, I can't." I shake my head vigorously. "No."

"But - you… Peeta," stammers Cam. He clearly expected another response.

"No, Cam!" I say fiercely. "I have a wife and baby and another on the way! I can't risk their lives for this. I just want my family and I to live in peace."

"Peace?" Cam says with disgust. His lip curls. "You call this peace? Slaving and starving and sending our children to a bloodbath for the Capitol's entertainment? I may not have children, Peeta, but most of us do. I thought you would at least want to try and prevent your kids from being Reaped. I guess I was wrong." He stands up to leave.

"You're risking the lives of everyone you care about, Cam," I tell him. "You and the other rebels. Hell, you're probably risking the lives of everyone in District 12."

Cam stares at me, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, the Capitol is monstrous," I continue, my own eyes narrowing. "But it's exactly that - monstrous. And District 12 is small and weak. We're the weakest district. We wouldn't have a chance."

"Until you join us, you'll never know how weak or strong we are," Cam says angrily. He pauses then says, " I assume you're not going to blab to the first peacekeeper you see?"

My mouth opens wordlessly, furious and shocked that he would think such a thing. After a moment I manage to say, "You know I would never -"

"That's just it," says Cam with finality. "I thought I knew you. Now I don't think I do."

He turns on his heel and leaves me, bristling and upset.

At home I gather Willow into my arms and hold her close as I sit pensively in front of the fireplace. I stare at the flames, appreciating the fire's warmth. The early spring weather has been frigid. Willow squirms a little before settling in my arms. I lean my cheek against her soft, unruly hair, and I think about the District 12 rebels and their invitation.

Weeks later, Cam and I are still at odds. We exchange no more than the necessary greetings. I sense his anger at my supposed betrayal, and he can sense my fear that the rebels have doomed District 12. Our mining team observes the change in our friendship, but don't comment. Katniss, preoccupied with pregnancy, doesn't notice that Cam and Liss have not visited. I fear implicating her, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

I go about my life as I have since I ran away to the Seam, but now I wonder what the rebels are planning and what the Capitol might do in retaliation. Every day feels precarious, and I try to take comfort in my everyday routine.

On another typical morning, and I wake slowly, rousing from a deep sleep for another day of mining. No alarm clock needed. Bakers' hours transition fairly seamlessly to miners' hours.

I roll over and cuddle closer to Katniss for a moment, caressing the swell of the baby growing inside her. There's a tentative kick from the baby against my palm. I smile to myself, trying to remember the dream I'd just been having. Katniss and our children. No threat of Reapings or Hunger Games. If only it were more than a dream.

The baby kicks harder against my hand, and Katniss stirs.

"Shhh, go back to sleep," I whisper to her.

She sighs. "It's hard to sleep at this point."

"I know," I reply. I kiss her neck and then climb out of bed. "Only one month left though."

I putter around the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and heating it on the cookstove. I kindle a fire from last night's embers. It isn't long before I bring a weak tea of mint leaves to Katniss in bed. She sips the tea as I pull on my miner's uniform and boots. Despite my protestations, she gets out of bed and packs my lunch pail.

"You're too good to me," I murmur and wrap my arms around her.

She scoffs and hands me a piece of toast. We eat breakfast in companionable silence as the sun rises.

"I better go," I say, brushing off crumbs.

I cross the room to Willow's little trundle bed. She sleeps soundly, tucked in with her stuffed rabbit toy. I smile down at her and stroke her soft cheek.

"I love you, nutmeg," I whisper.

Katniss hands me my lunch at the door and pulls me to her for a kiss. I part my lips for her tongue, and we kiss long and languidly. We break apart, smiling, and I place my hand on her belly. "I'm excited to meet this one soon," I say.

"Really?" Katniss asks, her eyes crinkled at the corners from smiling.

"Can't wait," I add, pulling her close again. I press a kiss to her temple and wonder how many children we would have if there were no Reapings or Hunger Games. Many, I'd like to think. I love being a father, and Katniss is a born mother.

Katniss and I kiss again, and I head off to the mines.

My mining team is assigned to the east mine shaft to scrape remaining coal deposits before closing the shaft. Pleased with the simplicity of the task, we chat and laugh, calling it the 'easy' shaft, as we make our way to the deep east tunnel. By deep, I mean a mile and a half beneath the surface. Breathable air is pumped in from above, but just in case, we bring a caged canary to warn us of noxious gas. Truth be told, we're far too deep for a canary to save us. But its bright yellow plumage and cheery tunes are still a welcome encouragement.

We haven't even reached the east mine shaft when it happens.

There's a rumble beneath our feet, the floor gives way, and we're sent sprawling into the chasm that has opened under us. We fall, shrieking and sliding along with boulders and dislodged wooden support beams. As we strike the bottom, we're battered by the tunnel debris that continues to crash down onto us. I curl up, hands clutching the helmet to my head as I try to shield myself.

A small boulder smashes into my leg, and, even over the tumult, I hear the sickening crack of breaking bone. I scream in agony, my leg trapped under the boulder, as I do my best to protect my head from the onslaught. Finally, the avalanche of rocks and dirt comes to a standstill, and all is quiet for a moment. The air is thick with dust.

Unbelievably, the chirping of the canary breaks the silence. Cageless, it flies twittering above us in the shifting haze of settling dust. At least we know there's no toxic gas. Groans and cries from the scattered miners join the canary's singing.

I uncurl myself and, gasping and whimpering, I start to push away the boulder that pins my leg. It slowly begins to budge. With a final agonizing shove, it rolls to the side. In the hazy darkness, I see my injured leg… and Cam.

I freeze in horror as I take in his vacant, glassy eyes and the jagged piece of wood protruding from his chest.

"No, no," I plead. Gasping from the pain, I drag myself closer to him and clasp his lifeless hand. Tears stream from my eyes. I lay my head on Cam's shoulder, oblivious to the blood seeping from his body, and weep.

I feel hands gently pry me away from him sometime later, and I hiss at the searing pain in my calf. Dana, her bright headlamp illuminating the scene, looks down at me sorrowfully.

"Oh, Cam," she chokes up. "Rook didn't make it either. He's dead. And Tansy - Tansy's in a bad way." She props me up against the boulder that broke my leg. "How are you?"

"Leg is broken," I tell her, my eyes on Cam. She gingerly rolls up my pants leg, and we both gaze at my battered calf. It's mottled with a black and purple bruise and bent somewhat askew.

"Not too bad," Dana says hesitantly. "Let's splint it and go from there."

I nod mutely but yelp with pain as she hastily straightens my leg and splints it with her pickaxe.

"Sorry," she mutters and bites her lip.

"Thanks," I groan, gritting my teeth.

She offers me a drink from her canteen. Denton appears behind her, and together they manage to carry me to the rest of the group who are gathered around a lantern.

"Cam's dead," Dana announces sadly to the dismay of our mining team. "Peeta's leg is hurt," she continues as I'm set down beside Tansy.

Tansy is definitely in a bad way. She gasps for breath, and makeshift bandages wrapped around her torso are soaked with her blood.

"What are we going to do? Is help coming?" asks Fallon.

"I sent a distress signal right as we fell," answers Dana. "I think it went through. Unfortunately, my transmitter was smashed in the cave-in, so I can't be sure. For now, we let the dust settle, and then we'll survey if there's a way to get out. Help is likely on the way. We just need to sit tight."

Dana clears her throat, her face exuding calm and authority, and I feel a surge of gratitude for her reassuring presence. The team nods mutely.

"In the event that we are trapped here for an extended period of time," Dana continues, "we commence rationing immediately."

I grit my teeth against the pain and think anxiously about being trapped here for days. Weeks? Or perhaps we will never get out…

The dust eventually settles, and the youngest, newest member of our team, Elia, is selected to try and find help. She's small and slight, and the rest of us tend to treat her like our younger sister. I think, in our own way, we're trying to give her the best chance to get out of here. The rest of the uninjured miners scope out a possible exit, climbing boulders and fallen support beams to reach the tunnel. Elia scampers up the cave-in nimbly, and I think of Katniss climbing trees. Before long, she calls down that she reached the top. We cheer, and then she's gone.

Hours pass, although we can't be sure because the only clock we had was in the smashed transmitter. We tend to Tansy, doing our best to re-bandage her wounds and provide comfort. We split up small servings of the lunch pails that made it down here with us, carefully rationing. We pass around a canteen of water, taking small sips. We even conserve the light from our headlamps, taking turns with only one headlamp on at a time. All of us hope against hope that we will soon be rescued, and all this rationing will have just been a precaution. When we think it's nightfall, Dana devises a rotating watch, and we try to get some sleep. Despite the pain of my leg, I fall asleep immediately.

Tansy dies during the night. Wiping tears, the team carries her a short distance away to where Rook lies, face covered with his bandana. I watch as Denton covers Tansy's face as well. We're all quiet for a while after that, suppressing sobs.

"Do you think Elia made it?" asks Fallon, breaking the silence.

"'Course she did," I answer quickly. "Did you see how she scampered out of here?"

"It's just… I would have thought she'd be back by now," Fallon said softly.

"She'll be back," I say confidently, and Dana nods.

Time loses all meaning. We follow a schedule Dana implements as best we can, as our rations are steadily consumed. Hungry, thirsty, and injured, I slide into a stupor, dreaming of Katniss and Willow and our new baby, whom I've imagined is another daughter. We're having a family picnic in the meadow. I'm playing with Willow, while Katniss watches nearby, cradling our baby. Willow laughs, running around in circles, and I'm glad she doesn't know that she's playing on top of a mass grave. Everyone we know is buried beneath us.

A lurching tugs me back to reality, and I blink blearily. My vision swings in and out of focus. I see a blur of jagged rock and debris, before my vision goes dark again. I struggle to open my eyes, and I realize that I'm being moved on a stretcher. As this thought registers, a sense of relief surges through me.

"Peeta? Can you hear me? Peeta."

Sound filters in slowly. Scuffling footsteps, calls of encouragement, groans of exertion.

"Peeta."

I manage to open my eyes, and Gale's face swims into view down by my feet. He's helping carry the stretcher, panting with the effort.

"Oh, good," he smiles at me. "I was worried about you."

"I'm fine," I try to say, but nothing comes out but a croak.

"Hang in there," he says, but I drift away.

Willow laughs, running across the meadow with me in pursuit. Running, laughing, and playing on the bones beneath us.

I wake with a screech as they set my leg in the infirmary. The sound of sobbing fills my ears. Through the haze of pain, I see Katniss, hysterical at my side. Alarmed, I try to sit up, wheezing, "Katniss?"

"I thought you were dead!" Katniss wails.

"I'm fine," I manage to say, bewildered as Katniss bawls, head in her hands. I've never seen her this distraught.

"It's okay," says Gale's voice. I swivel my head to see him approach my bed from the other side. "It's probably the pregnancy hormones."

Is it? I think, as I watch Katniss weep. I slide my hand towards hers, and gently pry her fingers away from her face.

"Katniss," I say hoarsely. "I'm not going anywhere."

She calms down slowly after that, smiling and sniffling. I lay back, exhausted and relieved, so relieved, that we were found and rescued. Pain medication and hydrating fluids swirl into my system, and I relax into a deep slumber.

The next day, I'm moved to the Everdeen home. It's become an unofficial healthcare clinic of sorts, and Katniss insists on my care coming from her mother. I'm tucked into bed and spoonfed broth, my leg propped up. Willow is brought to see me, and she brightens up the Everdeen home, chattering and running around until Prim takes her away. Dizzy and still dehydrated, I have trouble staying awake. I try to listen as Katniss and Gale describe the rescue efforts. Our team had been trapped for five days, and it was only Elias's escape that gave any hope of finding us at all. I was the last to be pulled out. They had to devise a precarious pulley system to lift me from the bottom of the cave-in. They left Cam, Rook, and Tansy in there, a miner's grave.

I must have drifted off again, because I wake slowly at the call of my name.

"Peeta… Peeta."

I blearily open my eyes and take in Gale who is sitting by my bedside. We're alone. There is something in Gale's eyes as he looks at me. A revelation on the tip of his tongue. Something I won't want to know. My body tenses.

"Katniss - " I start to ask, but Gale interrupts.

"I thought you should know, Peeta, although I'm not supposed to say."

"Know what?" I growl. My heart clenches painfully in my chest.

"That Katniss has joined the rebels."

End of Part One

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I greatly appreciate it, and I hope you enjoyed it. If any of you are upset that the story ended on a cliff hanger, there is technically a part two and three planned out. I am such a slow writer, however, so please don't hold your breath! I don't have a time-frame for when the next installment will be published. I consider this story as complete, and part two would be a new work. Thanks again! Best, E


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